


you just put your lips together (and you come real close)

by fleetingly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Female Derek Hale, Female Stiles Stilinski, Genderswap, Lesbians!, cis-genderswap, tequila and making out, underage drinking but not underage shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleetingly/pseuds/fleetingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"two weeks into college and stiles is giving herself a fucking a+." a houseparty, tequila, and dara's ass. (dara/stiles)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you just put your lips together (and you come real close)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/gifts).



> "two weeks into college and stiles is giving herself a fucking a+." OR college!au where scott and stiles are at a party and somewhere asher roth and sammy adams are like 'i wrote a song about this.'
> 
> and yes, the title is from flo-rida's "whistle" which, yes, i did listen to on repeat while writing. originally posted [here](http://reeking.livejournal.com/3855.html) at my writing journal. ultimately, this story is for [distira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/pseuds/distira) because i love her a lot and she never asks for anything. &you

"Is there anything other than beer?" Stiles asks the room at large. There are multiple games of beer pong going on and a serious round of extreme darts happening against the door of the garage, so Stiles isn't all that surprised when no one answers. 

In the face of what is presumably a keg of either Natty Light, Keystone Light, or PBR, she heads to the kitchen because fuck if she's getting wasted at a stranger's house on shitty as fuck beer. Stiles may have only been in college for all of two weeks, but she has standards, okay.

Taking a deep breath of air while still relatively body-odor-stagnant free, Stiles shoves her way through the skinniest hallway with shouts of "Sorry! Sorry! Coming through! My bad!" as she scrambles over people lining the walls three-deep, until at last-

"Nirvana," she says, eyeing the handles of vodka, rum, and tequila appreciatively. Maybe a little nervously; she isn’t the world's connoisseur on alcohol, is really only familiar with the sips of Jack her dad sneaks her at home. But she isn't home anymore, and Stiles is a bit at a loss for a drink. 

Surprisingly, there's only one other girl in the kitchen. Stiles expected to see more, considering the crush of people in the house, but the tiny room is just that, really fucking tiny. Also weirdly isolated from the rest of the party, like the thumping bass and sweaty bodies gyrating are insulating the kitchen.

Stiles is staring at the handle of Stoli trying to convince herself she likes to drink nail polish remover when the other girl-- _tall, dark, and gorgeous holy fuck_ , Stiles' brain supplies unhelpfully--grabs the solo cup out of her hands. 

"Hey!" Stiles says indignantly.

Tall, dark, and gorgeous just raises an eyebrow that is both intimidating and attractive at the same time--intimidatingly attractive? She looks at Stiles for a moment and then apparently satisfied with what she sees, grabs the Cuervo. Pouring two shots worth in, she grabs the orange juice sitting out by the other mixers and fills the cup up about 3/4 full. Stiles feels like she should be saying something, maybe _who are you what the fuck_ , but she stays silent.

"Are you allergic to pineapple?" talk, dark, and gorgeous asks, her hand on the pineapple juice. Her voice is low and subdued in comparison to the music pumping through the house. It makes a shiver go down Stiles' spine. 

Stiles really needs to find out her name, but she just says, "No." 

Swirled, mixed, and back in her hands, Stiles stares at her drink while tall, dark, and gorgeous just looks at her, face impassive. "Well?" she prompts.

Stiles takes a drink and braces herself for the unmistakable taste of alcohol, but- "Hey! This is delicious!" she says and smiles up at the stranger.

There looks like a smile lurking on talk, dark, and gorgeous's face, but she doesn't say anything, just continues to be the most attractive person Stiles has ever seen.

"So uh, yeah, very delicious, thank you...?" Stiles trails off.

"Dara," talk, dark, and gorgeous supplies with a very tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

"Thank you, Dara," Stiles emphasizes the name, "this drink is so delicious that I will even overlook the fact that you jacked my cup and could've roofied me."

Dara smirks. "How magnanimous of you. I, too, will overlook the fact that you walked into a house clearly not your own and headed straight for booze you didn't and couldn't pay for..."

"My name is Stiles," she says, "and how do you know I can't pay for it? I could be 21!" Dara just cocks her head to the side. "Okay fine," Stiles grumbles. "I couldn't pay for it if I wanted to."

"So you admit that you're just stealing someone else's alcohol?" Dara is still smirking, it's doing weird things to Stiles’ equilibrium.

"Um," she says, her mind blank of a snappy comeback. She takes a drink of her tequila-- _her ill-gotten tequila_ , her mind supplies--while trying to focus on anything other than Dara's perfectly arranged face. Her boobs make a pretty compelling effort (breasts always do), but Dara takes a step forward and that draws Stiles' eyes back to her face.

"Were you checking me out?" Dara doesn’t sound pissed, but then again, Stiles has only just met her, this could be her ‘I’m about to kill you face.’

They're only about 6 inches apart and Stiles is trying to keep herself from hyperventilating or blurting out _if I was checking you out, I would’ve gotten a better look at your ass_ , because Stiles really, really doesn’t want to die before she finishes her first semester. "Um," she says again. 

"You know," Dara says conversationally, "money isn't the only accepted form of payment." And okay, wow, that doesn’t sound like Dara is about to break out her kill face.

Stiles feels warm all over, she feels like electricity is dancing in her veins lighting her up, she feels more aroused than she ever thought was possible _holy fuck_. Dara is not just gorgeous, she is hot like burning and if she’s saying what Stiles thinks she’s saying this is where Stiles should bust out some incredibly witty innuendo of her own, wowing the pants literally off of Dara because that should totally happen before Stiles combusts in a pile of want. 

Unfortunately, Stiles' brain is lost somewhere on the image of Dara pants-less. "Um," she squeaks. 

Dara steps forward again until they're touching _they are totally touching_ Stiles is just going to melt because Dara is not only hot but also an alluring warmth and her breasts are grazing Stiles and if she thought electricity was a problem before it grows tenfold when they’re actually touching.

Dara grabs the solo cup still dangling from Stiles' hand and takes a long drink, her blue eyes never looking away from Stiles. 

Dara puts the drink back in Stiles' hand, smiles the widest, most beatific smile Stiles has ever seen, and turns on her heels right out of the kitchen. Stiles is left trying to remember to breathe.

 

Stiles is on her second drink, the same ingredients as before. It doesn't taste as good as the first one, but she's working on a steady buzz, so if her taste buds are going to fall asleep she doesn't care. She's also sitting on a couch with Scott, the only reason she even came to this party. He's sitting and waiting for Allison, the only reason _he_ came to this party. 

"Her dad seems pretty protective," Stiles says, gesturing pointlessly at Allison talking out on the patio; Scott hasn't looked away once. "You sure you want in on that?"

Scott doesn't say anything, which means that he’s either ignoring Stiles, or not comprehending anything other than ‘look at awesome this girl is’; Stiles can roll with that. "She seemed really cool for the two seconds I got to talk to her," Stiles says, nudging Scott's shoulder. 

"She really, really is," Scott turns and gives Stiles the open and earnest look that sealed their friendship in the fifth grade when Scott was new to town and spilled chocolate milk all over Stiles’ shirt at the lunch line. "I think, I think I'm gonna kiss her tonight."

Scott sounds a little nervous so Stiles forgoes any immediate jokes in favor of bolstering his ego. "Dude! That is hella awesome!" Stiles resolutely doesn't think of how she almost got kissed tonight. Except she's kind of tipsy and once her mind latches on to something, well, Dara is distractingly hot even when not standing right in front of her.

Allison comes back in looking subdued, but the minute her eyes lock with Scott's her entire face breaks out in the biggest smile. It should make her look ridiculous, but she looks radiant instead, like a Disney princess. Cartoon princesses are difficult enough to handle, dimples like that in the flesh? _Not fair._

"Well, damn," Stiles says. 

"Oh?" Allison asks sweetly, and not in the fake sweet way, she legitimately cares about people, even ones she’s only just met. They hadn't gotten a chance to really talk before her dad had called, but anyone who’s on scholarship for archery, of all sports, and who is also clearly that into Scott after two weeks of classes is, at the very least, cool. 

"I'm out!" Stiles waves her solo cup around. "Can I offer either of you a refill?" because Stiles is a kind, kind soul, and can tell when she's wanted and when she's being a third wheel.

Scott looks at his half full cup of beer and shakes his head. 

"Thanks," Allison says, "but no thanks, I'm just drinking water. I have early practice tomorrow.”

Stiles gives a mock salute and grins. "Suit yourselves!" She walks into the kitchen and nearly brains herself on a cabinet because hello, guess who's in the kitchen again. Alone. Stiles had finally gotten her libido to calm the fuck down, but within an instant of recognition, she’s up and ready to go.

"Hello," Stiles says in what she hopes is a suave tone, but probably sounds more like a braying donkey. Stiles can't keep her eyes focused on Dara's face, attractive though it may be, but Dara's ass is looking mighty fine in light of her bending down to reach for something in the refrigerator. Stiles recognizes this is the sort of objectifying bullshit women are subjected to on a scale only meant to satisfy the male gaze, but _holy shit that ass._

"Come to steal more?"

"What?" Stiles says, visibly moving her eyes to Dara's face. 

"How many of those have you had?" Dara points to the solo cup.

"This is my second, well, one and a half since you drank half of the first," Stiles says, dimly recognizing that she's pouting.

Dara hmms. Stiles has no idea what it means, but Dara's mouth plumps up in a _moue_ and there is nothing Stiles wants more than to kiss those lips. She actually steps closer.

Dara grabs two shot glasses and the bottle of tequila. "Shots?" she asks in what maybe she thinks is an innocent voice but really just translates to: Stiles is hooked hooked hooked.

"Uh, sure," Stiles says tentatively.

Dara pauses in slicing the limes--which, okay wow, they are seriously doing the whole tequila shot experience--and turns to stiles, her face soft and understanding. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Stiles, seriously."

Stiles gets a little distracted because she honestly hadn't expected Dara to remember her name, but when her brain finally processes what it's been told she flushes what is sure to be a beet red. "That's, uh, that's very understanding of you, but really, on a scale of 1 to 10, I'm at a solid 4." And Stiles doesn't lie, doesn't even think about it. Yes, she’s had about four shots worth of alcohol, but that was over a period of an hour, she is in control of herself and her mind, and she is not against getting more drunk. She wants this, and she wants Dara to want it, too--whatever this turns out to be.

Dara is clearly older, her familiarity with the alcohol, the limes, and something more about her that Stiles can’t name. She's taller than Stiles, though the spiky high-heeled boots are contributing the most there. In this moment Stiles has a flash of shocking clarity: Dara clearly doesn't want to pressure her, Dara might actually be flirting with her, and they definitely need salt.

"We need salt," Stiles says.

Dara stares at Stiles again, searches her face for an answer, and is apparently satisfied with what she sees because she resumes the slicing of the limes. "To the right of the stove," she says.

Stiles can feel the world move a little slower than usual, but really, she's in control of her faculties. This isn’t the first time she’s gotten intoxicated, though it is the first at college, and something feels incredibly grown-up about the whole experience. She gets the salt and places it next to the shot glasses. 

"Have you done this before?" Dara asks.

"I’ve watched a lot of teen movies, does that count?" Stiles says.

Dara looks at her again and Stiles is beginning to see how the expression there could be labeled amused. "Salt first, tequila, and then lime."

Dara licks a stripe on the outside of her left hand and then pours salt on too. She holds the tequila in her right and the lime in her left. Stiles echoes her motions.

"Ready?" Dara asks, her head bent forward conspiratorially. Strands of her inky black hair have fallen forward out of it's ponytail; Stiles wants to tuck them behind her ear and then kiss her until she moans. _oh oh oh that is oddly specific_ , Stiles thinks. 

"Ready!" Stiles is a bit behind because she watches Dara lick her hand for longer than is strictly necessary. The shot definitely could have gone smoother, but the lime is a nice treat.

"Ugh, you would look flawless after taking shots," Stiles says, wiping her jaw of excess citrus. Dara tracks the movement, and for the first time Stiles feels like maybe Dara thinks she's hot shit too. The realization is a heady feeling, a rush to rival the tequila, because this isn’t just flirting, this is _intent._

"Another?" Dara asks.

"Yeah," Stiles breathes.

The second shot is a lot smoother--practice makes perfect!--Stiles doesn't spill any lime juice this time, but she is incredibly focused on Dara's lips and her tongue wetting them. Now they’re pink and shiny, what was she supposed to do? 

"Hmm," Dara says, "let's try something a little different." Stiles can feel her belly tighten as a jolt of awareness floods through her.

“Sure, okay, yeah,” Stiles babbles. 

Dara steps right up into Stiles’ personal space and Stiles is doing everything she can not to start whimpering. “I’m going to put the salt here,” she puts a hand to Stiles’ neck, a couple inches higher than her collarbone. Dara’s fingers are almost burning and Stiles can’t tell if it’s Dara or herself.

“But first,” Dara says, her lips close and tantalizing, “I have to lick to get you wet.” 

_Oh you really, really don’t have to do anything other than breathe_ , Stiles thinks. 

Dara slides her other hand through Stiles’ hair, tugging on the ponytail and bringing her head back and away to give herself room to work. Stiles is just trying to breathe normally, but when Dara’s tongue starts licking and sucking, Stiles gives up all pretense of trying to be cool, calm, and collected. She gasps.

It’s not a very long time Dara spends there, but when Stiles sees her get the salt shaker she has to rest against the counter, let it hold some of her weight, because Dara is going _to town_ on her neck. Stiles closes her eyes and her concentration fades to where Dara’s legs are bracketing her own, the hand tugging on Stiles’ ponytail, and Dara’s wet, hot mouth licking and biting and sucking all the salt off of her neck. She feels invincible, like she could run a marathon over and over again.

Dara lets off with a wet pop and Stiles sees a wild and (what she hopes is) aroused look in her searing blue eyes. She downs the tequila while never once looking away from Stiles. Stiles vaguely realizes her chest is heaving, and _wow, when was air so hard to breathe_. Dara is reaching for the lime slice when Stiles grabs her hand, not thinking about what she’s doing otherwise she’ll lose any and all bravery from her liquid courage.

Dara starts to say something, but Stiles never gives her the chance. She puts Dara’s hand on her waist, and then all thoughts fly out of Stiles’ head because Dara has caught on and is kissing her and she’s getting lost in the sensations. Dara’s hand isn’t stationary, she’s got her fingers up under Stiles’ shirt, her fingers are trailing a pattern up and down Stiles’ skin, at turns soft and teasing, and then god, she drags her fingernails and it takes all Stiles has not to moan right there.

This is not Stiles’ first kiss, this is not Stiles’ first kiss with a girl, but bar none this is the best kiss Stiles’ has ever had. Dara honestly just feels and tastes like magic. Magic and tequila. Her tongue is insistent, coaxing, gentle, demanding, everything all at once. Her mouth is hot, sweet, and wet; nothing she could have ever dreamed of is as good as she feels right now.

Stiles has her own hands rucking up Dara’s shirt, feathery touches to her abdomen. So far so good, and then she lightly slips a finger under the waistband of Dara’s jeans--Dara immediately presses herself closer to Stiles, and bites Stiles’ lower lip, prompting a moan to escape. 

“Have you seen the garbage can?” says a voice that Stiles might recognize, if Dara hadn’t gotten a hand up and onto her breast, lightly kneading on top of the fabric.

Dara lifts her mouth away far enough that she can speak, “In the garage or on the patio.” Stiles would be impressed that Dara could even find words, but she’s too busy making small whimpering noises to notice or even care.

“Thanks!” and with that one exclamation, Stiles puts the pieces together, and then, “Oh my god, _Stiles?!_ ”

She doesn’t disentangle herself from Dara, not completely at least. She keeps her left hand, the one furthest from view firmly down Dara’s pants. She has priorities!

“Hi Scott,” she says, peeking around the refrigerator and “Hi Allison.” Allison grins and doesn’t say anything, which Stiles is eternally grateful for. Scott still hasn’t arranged his face in anything other than vague confusion and extreme consternation. 

“We wondered where you went,” he says. 

“Well,” Stiles says, “here I am.” Dara still has her hand on Stiles’ breast. Stiles sighs. This situation has quickly spun out of control. 

“Right, well, uh, actually, you were my ride, so uh...”

“I cannot believe I’m saying this--I’ll blame the tequila later so don’t you dare let this get to your head,” Stiles says, removing one of her hands from under Dara’s shirt to get to her car keys, “but please take the jeep and get away from here as soon as possible.” She throws the keys to Scott because no way in hell is she stepping away from Dara, not unless the house is on fire, which, okay bad thoughts there.

“Thanks!” Scott says, only giving one brief glance to their corner of the kitchen. Stiles shoos him away. 

When Stiles finally gets her attention back to Dara, unease starts to settle through her. Dara isn’t expressing much of anything, her face is blank and she’s stepped away from Stiles, enough so that the heat of her presence is noticeable absent.

“So, that was Scott, my best friend,” Stiles starts, because if there’s something she’s good at, it’s babbling, and with alcohol starting to make her way into her system, well, all bets are off. “He’s uh, super into this girl Allison, he’s going to kiss her tonight, maybe, he thinks so, I’m not sure. I also don’t know how my jeep is going to possibly highlight the mood, but what the fuck do I know, right?” She leans back on the counter. “Um, okay, your face has grown progressively more, uh, stony? You’re stony-faced and I don’t really know what to do with that. Did I mess things up? I’m pretty sure things were going all right, you felt all right, well, no you feel amazing, but emotionally, on the inside of you I can’t reach... uh?” Stiles trails off. 

“Are you eighteen?” Dara says after a long moment of silence with only dull thuds of the bass interrupting the calm of the kitchen. 

“Yes!” Stiles is about to say “since last week!” as well, but Dara just lets out a “oh thank god” and begins kissing her again, deeply, wetly, urgently, and she just manages to get her on hands on belt loops to steady her, because oh dear sweet god yes. Dara has a hand in the front of Stiles’ jeans, and a thigh pressed _right there_ and really, honestly, Stiles is not going to be embarrassed about keening. Of all the things to be embarrassed about tonight, grinding on a hot girl’s leg who is reciprocating the must-touch-skin memo is so not one of them.

Dara pulls away from her mouth to trail a path of bites before reattaching her teeth and tongue to the hickey she started earlier. 

“Please,” Stiles begs. 

“I have a bedroom, here,” Dara says hotly against Stiles’ ear, “with a bed.” Dara licks and bites Stiles’ earlobe. Stiles shudders. 

“Why aren’t we there?” Stiles manages, and she’s frankly just proud that she put words together in a coherent manner. 

In response, Dara grabs Stiles’ wrist and drags them out of the kitchen and through the still clustered people in the hallway. 

Two weeks into college and Stiles is giving herself a fucking A+.


End file.
